


Waiting for freedom

by Jazz_intown



Series: And when the sky's falling apart, who will hold my hand? [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: After the festival, Gen, Hamilton references cuz I'm a sucker for it, Wilbur's lost sanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27070699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazz_intown/pseuds/Jazz_intown
Summary: The festival, in fact, did end up in a blast, just not as Wilbur expected. But it didn't matter. He didn't care. Not really.
Series: And when the sky's falling apart, who will hold my hand? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122893
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Waiting for freedom

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a sudden flash of motivation at 1 am without reading it twice. Having that said, I'm sorry for any mistakes or stuff like that.

The sky full of stars was a real shining pleasure. Nothing interrupted it's light, it's innocent but somehow wise beauty. The wind was cool, whistling through grass and leaves; it felt nice on ones cheeks, especially after such an... eventful day. It smelled like peace. 

Wilbur Soot didn't care. 

He wanted the sky to be painted orange from flames. He wanted the wind to be burning hot. He wanted it to smell like smoke and death and satisfaction. 

Satisfaction? 

One could call it satisfaction to lay in the grass after a long stressful day with traitors turning into friends and friends turning into traitors, whatever. To watch the amazing gaze of diamonds in the dark of night. For some it could be satisfying to know that everything was alright, more or less; the allies alive, the enemy confused and unknowing. Sure, he could be grateful for the peace of the cool night and the lubally of loneliness, a sparkling tune in his ear that wouldn't go away since the day his home turned against him. At first it had sounded unsettling, creeping into his mind like a poisonous snake. But now he was used to it; it even seemed comforting to know that it didn't matter anymore who told him he still had love in his life. All traitors. All liars. He hummed his little tune of loneliness, accepting the snake. 

It didn't matter.

He didn't care. 

Not really. 

(He, in fact, did care, said a small voice inside of his head.)

As one said, he didn't care. 

It was very easy to do that as soon as one started to realize how useless everything and everyone was. A home was no home. A friend was no friend. No point in trying. He had enough proof; Dream, Eret, Fundy, Schlatt, Tubbo, Technoblade... They all had left him, in one way or another. By promising peace and starting a war. By joining an army of tyrants. By forgetting him. By chasing him away. By being a right hand man, but not his. By hurting someone - everyone - he had promised to protect, more or less. Not that Wilbur kept his promises (not anymore), but it still was good to be right about at least something. 

He had tried to explain it to Tommy, but the boy wouldn't listen. Of course not, he was young and foolish. He thought with his heart and talked too much. Fools who ran their mouth off winded up dead. Wilbur was foolish too, but he wasn't young anymore. He knew of life. He knew of the relief that death brought and embraced it while Tommy tried to fight it. Stupid child. 

It didn't matter. 

He didn't care. 

Not really.

(But you did care when that boy's heart was penetrated by an arrow, the voice said.) 

As one said, he didn't care. 

His mind was quiet now. Why, he wondered without really wondering, because how could one wonder if one didn't believe in wonders (or anything besides that) anymore? The past weeks his thoughts had been loud and annoying, picking, shaking up memories and throwing them in a pit where they unfortunately wouldn't stay like the problems between Technoblade and Tommy did. No, instead they stormed his ears and forced themselves into his sleep. Dream showing him his land, inviting him (How thankful I am), Dream with fury in his eyes demanding a white flag (How much I hate him), Dream vanishing into the shadows as always (How typical). Eret proudly saluting in front of him (How glad I am to have him on my side), Eret grinning over a button (How confused I am by being betrayed), Eret being torn apart by a explosion which was caused by a button (How ironic). Fundy laughing like the child he once had been (How I must protect him), Fundy looking at his father without recognition (How much I want to forget him), Fundys ashes being blown away by the wind like his loyalty had been (How fitting). Schlatt jokingly putting his arm around Wilburs shoulders (How much I trust him), Schlatt, now wearing his title, staring him down and yelling for him to leave the walls he build with his own hands (How much I fear him), Schlatt being thrown out of these same walls, bones shattered (How I'd like that). Tubbo looking up to him and smiling while bouncing up and down, there in his little tubbox (How it melts my heart), Tubbo shaking hands with Schlatt (How my heart is being put back to stone), Tubbo staring at a crossbow in confused panic (How wrong). Technoblade, a pile of potatoes in hand and blinking with a little smile underneath his tiredness (How much I need him), Technoblade firing colorful blasts into a crowd while laughing about blood and gods (How much I knew he'd betray me), Technoblade turning his back and walking away, going for an more interesting hunt (How predictable). 

All their laughter and their screams, their whispers and their mourns, had pierced Wilburs mind for weeks, not letting go and growing louder and louder and louder until he realized what they tried to tell him. We all will betray you, they said, we all are against you. You don't have a family or a home or anything else you ever hoped for. You don't have hope. Love is a lie. 

They were right. Love was a lie. And _they_ were liars. 

They were liars because there was one thing he hadn't lost; one thing he had always wished for, more than anything else. It was not power; he was not Dream. He knew when he was defeated. No, not power, nor love or safety. Such ridiculous illusions. 

He had freedom.

He was a man who had nothing to lose. He could do what he wanted.

And after he had realized that, after countless nights of pacing through empty tunnels and silently humming a melody while the battlesong inside his mind continued, he had laughed. Simply because all he had worked for, had died for, was worthless. There was no freedom in getting his own little server. There was no freedom in life at all as long as he still had things to love because then he could be pressured. Pressure was never freedom.

Freedom was, he claimed, to scream and not care about being judged. To go wherever he wanted to with whoever he wanted whenever he wanted. Not to have control, but to have the power to wipe everything out that stood in his way. Burning, _blasting, destroying_ everything he himself had created if he demanded it. To _simply not care. That_ was freedom. 

And today, a god with a crossbow and red eyes had taken his opportunity to be free. 

It wasn't that Wilbur cared that much about it. He had known it would happen eventually. It didn't matter. Technoblade was a traitor just like everyone else, so he would act like one sooner or later (in this case sooner). It had confirmed his beliefs but it didn't do much to his plan. The TNT was still under the grounds of Manburg. Dream was still on his side, no matter what. He didn't trust Dream as he trusted no one (not even himself since a little somehow familiar voice inside his head told him he had gone insane and he was good to believe it, knowing and not really caring about the fact that blowing up something as big as a whole nation wasn't considered as mentally stable) but the masked man wouldn't betray him as long as he did what was planned. Wilbur knew what Dream wanted. Dream knew that he knew. Both couldn't care less. They both wanted destruction, maybe for different reasons, but that didn't matter. 

What, as one already said, did matter, was that Manburg still had it's death throwing it's shadow upon it. It would fall. It would burn. He would be free. 

Wilbur leaned back and let himself fall into the grass, feeling it rustle against his coat that wasn't soaked in blood yet. The battlesong inside his mind was no more; it had turned into numbness. He was tired. Somewhere the tune of loneliness, a soft lullaby (almost like the hymn he had sung with Tommy in another lifetime, a little voice said in a melancholic tone) whispered tempting words underneath familiar guitar strings. Once he had played it. Once he had sung songs of pain and of love and of life. Not anymore. The lullaby didn't touch him. No music filled his thoughts no more; only emptiness and the desperate knowing that he had to reach freedom, even if it meant he would die. It's not as death would mean that much to him, anyway. 

It didn't matter. 

He didn't care. 

Not really. 

(He did care, a silent voice said, he was scared of being forgotten by those who had sworn to remember him.) 

As one already said, he didn't care. 

Wilbur looked up to the stars. He could see fire and all their faces burning in fear if he just would shut his eyes. He didn't. He wouldn't. Not yet. The flames weren't burning today. It didn't matter. They surely would; maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, who knew. He would wait a little for his freedom if he had to. 

A little memory flashed behind his eyes, letting him chuckle. The proud look of (loyal friends) traitors as he made them swear on a senseless book. _I am like Hamilton,_ he had thought back then, young as he was despite thinking of himself as old. 

He wasn't Hamilton. He wasn't brave, he had thrown away his shot many times. He did not stand for nothing. Not anymore.

Well then, Wilbur decided, he wouldn't be Hamilton. Burr, in fact, did stand for nothing as well. 

A villain being like a villain in an almost forgotten piece of art. 

How fitting. 

Slowly he rose to his feet, dusting off his pants. With one last look at the stars he made his way to the basement of his traitor companions. He would get his freedom. He would stand for nothing but destruction, chaos, because he no longer was aiming for the skies but instead right ahead. 

Yes, he would be satisfied as he would watch it all burn and being erased from the narrative, he himself with it, raising a glass to freedom! 

Until then, he would wait for it.


End file.
